


Descent

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-14
Updated: 2003-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'No man is an island,' and Lex had no excuse for not knowing who said that.<br/>Obligatory island fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Descent

## Descent

by Becca

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/echoskeleton>

* * *

Descent  
by Becca 

Lex could see the sun before he even opened his eyes, felt the brightness searing his retinas through his eyelids. He didn't see any reason to open his eyes, and just lay there, mostly numb, except for the occasional sharp twinge spasming through his body. If Lex could think, he would have thought about water, and even after he lost consciousness, he didn't stop seeing the sun. 

When Lex woke again, it was night and he hurt. He tried to roll over, and couldn't. So he lay there, and laughed, and at some point, flopped onto his belly, nose in the sand. 

The next morning brought a high tide, and salt water stung Lex's skin, and flowed into his mouth. He managed to pull himself onto his knees, and panted, head down while blood traced a new route through his body. He was so thirsty. 

_Water_ , _water everywhere_ , _and not a drop to drink_. If Lex were more awake, he would know who said it, when, and why. Right now, all he knew was that seawater was bad for him, it would make him very sick, and that it was looking more appealing by the minute. 

It was afternoon when Lex finally made it to his feet, and felt a Darwinian sense of pride; he'd emerged from the ocean, crawled on the land, and was now standing erect. Lex was overcome by a strange urge to beat his chest, and insist that all nature bow before him. But he was still more concerned with finding water, so he started walking. 

He made it three steps, before falling to his knees. Evolution, Lex reminded himself, was a slow process. 

After you left the shore, the island was covered in dense, jungle-like foliage. If he couldn't find water, Lex would eat the leaves off the trees. There were a lot of leaves, and a lot of trees. Lex ran his finger down the vein in the center of a leaf. There were thoughts somewhere in his head, he just didn't know where. 

There was a small, shallow stream a few hundred yards inland, and Lex almost didn`t believe that it was real. He was so happy that if his body had enough moisture left to produce tears, he would have wept. He cupped his hands, filled them with water, balking for a minute at how dirty it was. There was a reason he didn't drink tap water, and while this water probably wouldn't taste like it was swimming in little fragments of iron that had crusted off the pipes, it was probably full of dirt and parasites. 

It only took Lex a second to realize that he didn't give a shit. 

Lex didn't leave the stream for a long time. There were days there, maybe even weeks. It didn't really matter, because there was also water, and water was cold and wet and good. Sometimes, Lex would dunk his head, or an arm, or a leg into the stream. His skin was red, blistered, and felt tight against his bones. He wanted to throw himself into the water, but was pretty sure he would never get back out. 

Now that Lex wasn't only thinking about water, he dreamed about other things. He wasn't sure what, maybe it was Clark, or Helen, or food, or home. Maybe it was his father's head on a pike, or maybe Helen, or Clark's.... 

No. 

Once he got off this island, he would have everything he dreamed about. Once he got off the island, he would know what he was dreaming about. 

Lex wondered how much longer he could live without food. Now that he wasn't thirsty, he was hungry, but didn't want to go and find food. The island was scary, and he knew he might not like what he would find. There was something unimaginable out there, something very bad lurking at the edges. Buried in the brush, or hanging from the trees, and Lex had plenty of time to think about horrible things. He knew where he was now, and if he moved, he wouldn't know. 

Lex didn't like not knowing. 

A bird had fallen from the skies, and now the body was hollowed out, full of maggots. Lex didn't think, he ate. If he could think, he would have imagined that this was a gourmet dinner, or cheap pizza, or something other than what it was. But his brain felt like it was full of holes, and all his thoughts were falling away. So he knew, and didn't know, exactly what he was eating. 

After that, he could think again. A little. There were dreams now, bright and real. They never stayed, though. Sometimes, he couldn't tell what was a dream and what was real. 

There was an island with tall trees, soft moss, and a shallow, dirty stream. It was real. 

There was a cracked Earth, spotted with fallen pillars, and thick with the stench of sulfur. That wasn't real, never would be real. 

There was wet heat, and warm hands. Skin that he could rub his face against. Lex wanted it to be real wanted it so badly that he knew it had to be a dream. 

There was so much blood that you could swim in it, and it felt cool against his skin. There was black rain falling from the sky, sinking past his skin, though his veins, and into his heart, and he clawed at his body desperately trying to get it out. Lex knew that this wasn't real, but in the morning there were scratch marks on his arms and legs. 

Sometimes he heard things, too; like the chatter of birds someone was calling him home. Or the wind whispering hard against his ear, saying sweet things, dirty things, awful things. Sometimes, those were the same things, but it didn't matter because they were talking. 

He missed talking. Missed his own voice, so one day he tried talking again. For a minute he forgot about words, forgot how they fit together. Words were slippery, and it took practice before Lex could grab them. But he knew that he could do it. 

Soon there were words, and sentences, and soliloquies. Shakespeare was trite, Dante was tacky, Milton was tragically ironic. Sometimes Lex sang old Celine Dion songs to the stream, reveling in acting crazy. 

Lex wanted someone who would listen. He wanted Clark, really, but he just would hold himself back, would only pull away. Never touch and never tell, he was tougher than steel, harder than diamonds. And not in _that_ way, because sex would let Clark break, let him be close, and Lex was becoming more and more sure that Clark would always be near enough to see, too far to touch. 

He told himself not to think about Clark after one night where he dreamed that Clark told him everything. Seductive, open, ready to give instead of take. He woke up shaking, flooded with too many emotions. So Lex pretended that Clark didn't matter. That he wasn't always on the edge of his thoughts. 

Helen. Helen. He. Len. Helen was just a name at this point, _Dr_. _Helen Bryce_ - _Luthor_. He couldn't remember a thing they'd done together, or anything she'd said, or even why she wasn't here. Lex loved her, and she loved him. She wasn't on this island, Lex knew that. That was okay, she was probably in the mansion, in a modest, soft dress, curls gathering around her face. She would tell him that everything was okay, Lex knew that for a fact. Not that he could remember he doing that, ever, but she was his _wife_. She had to love him. 

There weren't many other people to think about. Lucas wasn't more that a poor realization of one of his dreams. All his life, Lex had wanted a brother. Lucas was his brother. But, if he wasn't, Lex knew that he would probably hate him. His mother was a memory, and a vague one. The more he thought about her, the more he realized that he forgot. And he didn't want to forget. The strong memories were the ones he had shared with Clark, and thinking about that was really thinking about Clark. And he wasn't doing that anymore. 

A brutal rage followed thoughts of his father, and Lex didn't like that. He didn't want to be angry with his father, didn't want to hate him. Didn't want to wish that he were dead, even when he was imagining Lionel being skinned alive, and fed to the bugs. Filled with maggots, and he would reach down and grab a handful, and raise it to his mouth... 

But Lex wouldn't kill his father. He just wouldn't, and he wasn't going to think about Lionel anymore, either. 

Everything was starting to feel the same, like maybe Lex was dead after all. Maybe he had died by the stream, claimed by some parasite, or by the heat, and now he would have to lay here forever, and feel his body rot. 

But he moved a little. It was only few inches closer to the stream, or back to the woods, grabbing leaves, or berries, or more bugs. Or under a tree when the sun got too hot. But if he moved he wasn't dead, and Lex was _moving_. 

_Inertia_. The word bounced around his brain, always jumping, turning, and never staying. Lex had to grasp it, had to stop the constant movement. But Lex was still, permanently still. Something would have to happen, he needed to move, or his thoughts had to stop, because he was either standing still, or moving. Lex knew he couldn't do both anymore. 

There were clearer thoughts now, not just vague images, and half-formed fears. He could remember where the best food was, and when the sun came up. Lex was even starting to realize the progression of the days, when it was morning, when it was afternoon, when it was evening. Now he was awake longer, and he could start to really think. 

Soon he would have to move, have to go out and look for something. For better food, cleaner water, or... 

More people. 

People who weren't him, who lived outside of his mind, away from everything building up inside him. 

He would go out, and find other people. 

No one got marooned on a desert island alone, Lex reminded himself. Robinson Caruso had Friday, Prospero had Miranda, Gilligan had the Skipper. He knew he wasn't alone, that there was someone else. There had to be other people. _No man is an island_ , and Lex had no excuse for not knowing who said that. He would ask whoever else was on this island, and he was sure that they would know. 

end. 


End file.
